Personal
by Your Undoing
Summary: Doctor House solves cases no one else can because he thinks like no one else can... with full disregard to the patient. But when the life of one of the only people he cares about rests in his hands, can he still solve the impossible?
1. Chapter 1

Personal  
By _Your Undoing  
_

Summary: Doctor House solves cases no one else can because he thinks like no one else can; with full disregard to the patient. But when the life of one of the only people he cares about rests in his hands, can he still solve the impossible?

Author's Note: First of all, disclaimer; I don't own anything. Now to the important stuff; this takes place before any of House's staff left. I feel it works better with the formulaic episode structure that I plan on using for this story. Though I don't know how many chapters there will be, you can count on enough to entertain. No worries; I have the whole story planned. Let's see how long it takes to tell. :) As always, reviews are greatly appreciated.

------------------------------

"The Spongebob movie is on and it comes back from commercials in like five seconds, make this fast or I shiv you."

"House!"

Wilson's voice suggested there was a problem. House rolled his eyes. Was there ever _not _a problem?

_Sigh._ He reluctantly tapped the MUTE button on the TV remote and adjusted the phone on his ear. He glanced at the clock; 10:25 PM.

"It's past your bedtime," he remarked. "What could possibly—"

Wilson interjected; "There's been an accident. You have to come to the hospital." His voice sounded strained.

"You're not gonna cry, are you?" House asked, slowly limping across the floor of his apartment to the coat rack. He pinned the phone to his right shoulder and used the newly free hand to unceremoniously yank his leather jacket off of a peg, dodging out of the way as the structure swayed dangerously.

After a moment of silence, House snickered. "Don't tell me you already are!"

"I am not," Wilson said, and this time House could clearly hear the familiar tone of exasperation in his voice. "House. I'm serious. Please."

"Who's the patient?"

"It's not really my place to tell you…" Wilson replied, reverting back to his previous tone of distress. "They should have a right to some privacy."

"The patient is a moron. Tell me."

"I can't do that."

"I won't tell."

"Just shut up," Wilson sighed.

"Oh, Wilson. Always so decent. Abiding by patient's wishes." House snorted. "Hah! Who are _you_ kidding? Tell me tell me tell meeee!" he whined, his voice rising an impressive number of octaves on the last syllable.

He could hear Wilson taking a deep breath on the other end of the line. House cocked his head with interest as he pulled on his jacket and took a tentative step towards door.

"If you get over here, perhaps we can negotiate for you to look over the case," Wilson said with a sigh. "Then obviously you'll know. …Look, _get over here_. I swear to God, you'll regret it if you—"

House removed the phone from his ear and firmly pressed the END button. _Click._ The line immediately went dead.

Smiling faintly at the newly silent phone, he set it on top of the nearest pile of junk. Well, so much for that. If Wilson wouldn't tell him, it obviously wasn't that important.

He shrugged off the jacket and swung it to land haphazardly on the back of his couch. Still rather disconcerted yet definitely too stubborn to allow himself to think about it, he limped around the couch and sank down into the--

_Ring._

"Oh for the love of God," House groaned. He shook his head, raising his eyes to the heavens, and turned them to looked purposely away from the phone as he picked up the remote.

_Ring._

"Why hello Spongebob!" he cried loudly, pressing the MUTE button again and allowing the noise of the television to once more flood the apartment.

_Ring._

He glared determinedly at the screen.

_Ring._

"Ha," he said with a slight twitch of his head.

_  
"I'm either not home or don't care-- probably both. Leave a message."_ his voice announced cheerily from the answering machine. House folded his hands in his lap and turned his ear towards the machine expectantly.

…Wilson's tone was purely pained now; "It's Cuddy." he hissed. "Please House. Pick up the phone. You should be here. I don't think--"

"You win," House grumbled to the empty apartment. He stumped over to the phone and raised it to his ear.

"I'll be there in five. I want full access to her charts when I get there."

A sigh. "Sure thing, House. Thank you."

But he had already hung up.

------------------------------

"Tell me again how you found her."

Wilson rubbed the back of his head wearily; "I told you. She was forty minutes late for dinner, so I drove to her house and found her on bathroom floor wearing a bloody robe."

"Her door was unlocked?" House asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I found a key under a potted plant on her porch."

"You scoundrel."

"Whatever," Wilson muttered. He scuffed the sole of his loafer against the linoleum floor of the waiting room. After a pause, he spat; "I hate this."

"Now we know how it feels to be on the helpless-friend-or-relative side of things," House said with a grimace. "I finally understand how horrible it must have been for all of those poor people to-- Oh, wait. Just kidding. I still don't care."

Wilson massaged his temples. "Go to hell," he muttered.

"So remind me why you I was so desperately needed that you had to lie about getting me charts?" House asked, flipping open a bottle of Vicodin with his thumb and tossing a handful into his mouth.

"I was panicked and you're the best doctor I know. Not to mention it's sort of a thing that people do—you know, act like they care. You should give it a try."

"I care," House said, a genuine tone of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

"No you don't," Wilson groaned. "You just showed up hoping for a show. Well sorry to disappoint, she just cut herself shaving."

House chuckled. "Oh Cuddy, you are an idiot."

This earned him a cold silence in response. Wilson rested his forehead on his palms and stared dully at his shoes. House looked around awkwardly for a moment before settling back in his chair.

"You're boring," he grumbled.

He gazed around the room. He rarely ventured into this section of PPTH—the freaked-out family members of ER patients didn't exactly make for the best company. Tonight though, the room lay silent and slightly on the cool side; as though whoever was in charge of the heating had decided that air temperature probably wouldn't be the top priority for whoever would be waiting in this room. House shifted uncomfortably in his plastic gray seat and tugged his LED ZEPPELIN t-shirt down to cover an exposed centimeter of skin on his back. The pores on his arms prickled with goosebumps beneath his jacket. Perhaps it was the air; or perhaps it was the distinct aura of death that seemed to float around on it.

He knew all too well what happened to a large portion of people brought to the PPTH emergency room; they died. Often.

He gave an involuntary jerk as the double doors leading deeper into the hospital opened with a soft _crick_.

Some nurse that House felt he probably ought to have recognized stepped out holding a clipboard. A small jolt ran up his spine as he saw the small crimson stains dotting the front of her smock.

Wilson slipped from his seat comically before jumping to his feet. "Is she--?"

"Fine," the nurse replied with a thin smile. "It looks like she just clipped a blood vessel on the side of her knee. Not to say she didn't lose a lot of blood; it's no wonder she fainted. From the sound of it, she just had time to turn off the shower, get a robe on, and start walking to the medicine cabinet before she blacked out. We patched her up and she should make a full recovery. However, we want to keep her under observation for 24 hours"

"Thank you," Wilson said, his face flooding with relief.

House merely eyed the nurse curiously.

"So uh," she stammered under House's gaze, "you can come visit tomorrow before she goes home."

"Super," House said with a mockingly wide smile. He grabbed his cane and stood. "Well Wilson, I suppose that's all you needed me for. Now that our little pity party no longer serves any sort of purpose, I'm going to Taco Bell."

He wiggled his fingers in a little wave. Wilson remained sitting, shaking his head incredulously.

"You really don't care, do you?" he asked with a slightly pained expression.

House ignored him. "It's time for fourthmeal. I'll see you tomorrow; don't stay up too late being a freaked-out pussy."

------------------------------

"Good morning my little minions!"

Doctors Chase, Cameron, and Foreman all jumped at the sound of the door being flung open. It appeared that they had been in the middle of a some sort of card game before he had interrupted. Cards lay strewn about the table—the majority of them clustered in a pile in front of Chase. Lab coats hung crumpled on the backs of their seats, giving the distinct impression that they had been there for a while. House beamed at their surprised faces.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, as he made his way to the far side of the room and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Um, yeah…" Chase said hesitantly. "Its two in the afternoon."

"Oh my god, really?!" House directed his eyes towards the clock hanging on the wall and feigned horror. "I was wondering why the traffic was lighter this morning. _Afternoon,_" he corrected with a flick of his index finger.

"What could possibly make you five hours late for work?" asked Foreman, crossing his arms.

"Nothing," House said, turning to flash a smile at Foreman before going back to stirring his coffee.

"So… why weren't you here five hours ago?"

"Because the establishment is currently unable to perform such duties as, say, reprimanding their employees for sleeping in."

House set his coffee down and pulled up a chair at the head of the table. He set his chin on his hands and grinned at the three uncomprehending faces staring back at him.

"What, you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" Cameron demanded. Her bright eyes were wide with curiosity… and that other obnoxious, self-righteous desire to be involved that House so very much abhorred.

"Oho," House said, grinning wider. "_Oho._"

Chase rolled his eyes. "Are you going to tell us or not?"

"Nope," House said, his voice gleeful. "We don't' have any cases at the moment though, so unless you want to finish that game-" he gestured towards the cards on the table- "which, by the way Chase, you clearly suck at—then I suppose you could ask around. I'd imagine… perhaps… Wilson might be able to inform you on the matter."

Chase looked indignant; Cameron and Foreman, simply surprised.

"What about that woman with the rash?" Foreman asked.

"—_Anna_," Cameron corrected.

"What about her?" House said with a shrug. "She has skin cancer. Go tell her she's gonna need to have half her face chopped off if she wants to live to see Christmas."

Foreman raised his eyebrows. Chase opened his mouth as though to object, but House was already speaking again;

"_Now _we have no cases. Be gone, pests!"

He waggled his hands in a shooing motion; Chase and Foreman rose from their chairs looking slightly affronted. Cameron, however, remained seated. She fixed House with what she clearly thought was an intimidating look and waited for the other two to exit.

After a moment, she cleared her throat with a soft _'hem!' _noise.

"I want you to tell me exactly what is going on."

"No can do sister," House said with a toothless smile. "Patient privacy, you know."

"Are you saying you can't get reprimanded for tardiness because Cuddy is a _patient _here?" Cameron's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline.

"I never said that," House said, raising a hand to his heart and looking affronted.

Cameron narrowed her eyes. "You're bothered by something. I see it in your face."

"Really?" House shrugged. "I'm not good at face-analyzing myself, but if I had to guess…" he leaned forward and stared into Cameron's face, causing her to shrink back slightly. "I'd say you're the most bothersome person I've ever met." He tapped her calf with his cane. "Now go do something with yourself. Save a cute baby. Bake a rainbow cake."

Cameron only stared for a moment. Then she rose and strode haughtily away, shooting House a furtive glance over her shoulder as she passed through the glass door.

House sank back in his chair with a contented sigh.

This was going to be interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**  
------------------------------

"Good afternoon… and why are you looking at me like that?" Wilson asked, glancing up at the sound of his office door opening. He shut the file he had been reading and moved it to the side of his desk, leaning forward and greeting Cameron with a slight frown.

"Where is Cuddy?" she demanded. She hugged her crossed arms to herself and narrowed her eyes.

"Well you certainly get right to the point," Wilson said with amusement. "I'm sorry I can't help you, but I haven't seen her all day."

Cameron took a step closer, bending down slightly to look Wilson in the eyes. "Yes, you have."

"Sorry," he muttered with a shrug, grasping the recently abandoned file and flipping it open again.

Cameron held her position, her eyes fixed on the top of Wilson's head as he scanned a report on whoever his patient of the week was. Wilson held _his_ position too, and Cameron rolled her eyes when she noticed that his had stopped moving across the page.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said loudly.

"Apparently not," Wilson sighed. He closed the file for the second time and raised his eyes to meet her suspicious glare.

"Well?"

"How much did House tell you?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms as well.

"It shouldn't matter. I'm asking as a concerned friend." 

Wilson let out a bark of laughter before noticing Cameron's expression.

"Friend? She's your boss's boss. You're terrified of her. _Everyone's _terrified of her."

Cameron shrugged. "Whatever. I'm still not leaving until you tell me what room she's in."

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"She's a patient here. I want to know what room she's in."

Wilson laughed incredulously. "If you already knew she was here then why did you—" he cut himself off at the satisfied look on her face.

"Oh," he muttered softly.

"Thanks," she said with a sly grin. "Now that you've already let that bit of information slip, I suppose you won't feel too guilty about telling me what room she's in?"

Wilson made a nervous noise that sounded like a cross between a cough and a giggle.

"Uh…" he paused, rubbing a hand over his face. "One of the private ones on the top floor. I think it's room five."

She grinned wider. "Great. See you later, Wilson."

Wilson grimaced as the door closed behind her.

------------------------------

"Doctor Cameron?"

Lisa Cuddy looked up with surprise from the medical journal resting in her lap. Her dark brown hair lay unkempt upon her shoulders, and the skin around her eyes appeared red and sensitive without makeup. Though she smiled, her eyebrows arched in a way that suggested she was surprised and not altogether pleased with this unexpected visit.

Cameron hung tentatively in the doorway.

"Um… hi," she said softly.

"How did you—what's—did Wilson tell you?" Cuddy stammered, her smile now looking very forced.

Cameron shrugged, taking a few steps nearer and allowing the door to slide shut behind her. The bright fluorescent lights overhead cast a sickly glow over the place; reflecting off of the blinds, which were all drawn.

"Uh, I sort of… deduced," Cameron offered. She moved around to sit in the empty plastic chair by Cuddy's bed, glancing at the few medical supplies scattered on the nearby counter as she did so.

"The point of getting a private room was so people wouldn't see me like this," Cuddy said with a frown.

"Like what exactly?" Cameron asked, leaning forward. "All I found out was your room number, I still don't know what you're doing here."

Cuddy averted her eyes and laughed humorlessly. "I just clipped an artery on my knee with my razor," she said, the color rising slightly in her cheeks.

Cameron looked taken aback. "That's it?"

Cuddy turned her gaze back to Cameron. "Well, I also blacked out from blood loss. But yes, that's it."

Cameron put a hand over her mouth. Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's nothing. I'll be walking out of here by tomorrow morning." She smirked. "…Actually, just in time to get downstairs and start work."

"I'm sorry you have to go through this," Cameron said, her expression genuinely sympathetic.

"So am I," Cuddy replied with a wan smile. "My knee is still killing me."

They sat in silence for a moment. While Cuddy looked around awkwardly, Cameron appeared to be having some sort of inner debate. After opening and closing her mouth a few times, she asked;

"May I borrow your file?"

Cuddy's stared at her.

"It's just… I'm really worried about you and I think we should make sure the pain is related to the cut instead of something else," Cameron said quickly.

"When I fainted my knee was the first thing to hit the floor," Cuddy said dismissively. "You should be in clinic, Doctor Cameron."

Cameron simply sat, her expression one of deep concern.

"_No,_" Cuddy snapped.

"It doesn't hurt to be sure," Cameron said, using the tone she generally reserved for when she needed to convince a patient to sign something.

Cuddy rolled her eyes again. "You know what, fine. Just don't tell anyone else about this." She motioned about the room.

Cameron rose to her feet. "Your secret's safe with me," she said, reaching out and grasping Cuddy's hand. Cuddy raised her eyebrows, but squeezed back.

------------------------------

"House."

House bit his lip and continued tapping the buttons on his Gameboy with gusto.

"_House._"

His eyes never left the screen as his thumb moved down to flicked a switch. A repetitive techno soundtrack began to bleep out of the speakers.

"_House!_"

He sighed exaggeratedly, tapping the POWER button and finally turning to face Cameron.

"I deplore you. Another ten seconds and Mother Brain would have been toast."

"Too bad," she snapped. "We have a case."

"Oh do we now?" he asked. "Great."

Cameron looked vaguely surprised; as though she had expected more resistance than that. Twitching her shoulders with what appeared to be a suppressed shrug, she smiled.

"Hit me with it," House said over his shoulder as he limped away from the recliner he had been sitting on and towards his desk.

"The patient is experiencing Arthralgia isolated in one joint only. They experienced no trauma to the area besides an unrelated razor injury to the skin near the joint, which_ should_ have no effect on the bone beneath it."

House bent over and deposited his Gameboy in a drawer beneath his desk. Straightening up, he smirked at Cameron.

"The patient doesn't happen to be a middle-aged Caucasian female with dark hair and a closet full of revealing shirts?"

"Does it matter?" Cameron asked, walking across the room and pushing the file into House's chest.

"Of course it does," House said quietly.

"I- what?" Cameron stared at him.

"…Because I know that you have a look-out-for-fellow-women thing and I know you have a look-out-for-fellow-victims-of-House's-abuse thing and I know that if you didn't, you wouldn't look at this file twice."

All the same, House plucked the file out of Cameron's hands and opened it.

"Says here that she fell on her knee when she passed out," he remarked. "It would be more unusual if she _didn't _feel any sort of ache after that."

Cameron reached a hand over the top of the folder and pointed at a point further down the page. "But she hit with the other knee as well, and there's not so much as a little ache. Even though there's equal bruising on _both._"

House closed the folder and Cameron jerked her hand back.

"There's nothing wrong with her."

Cameron gaped.

"We have unexplained symptoms! We have a case!" she cried with exasperation as House limped towards the door.

"No we don't," House snapped. "She's not getting any worse. Of course she's experiencing more pain in her left knee than her right; she didn't need _stitches _in her right."

"She describes an ache in the bone, not the skin," Cameron pressed.

"She's wrong," House said simply.

Cameron gritted her teeth. "You won't even see her? Can't even check?"

House shook his head and walked out the door into the hallway.

"_House_." She hurried around and stood in front of him, forcing him to stand still. "I know you may be outwardly enjoying this, but I can tell you're anxious. It's time you did something. There's could be more to this case than meets the eye."

House's eyebrows contracted, and for a moment it looked as though he might agree; but then he was making his way past her, and the expression was entirely gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

------------------------------

"Good morning sunshine."

"Oh my God House," Cuddy groaned. She blinked blearily and brushed a matted lock of hair off of her brow. Under the bright light of the hospital room, her face shone ghostly pale.

House leaned forward on the stool he'd been perched upon. Grinning, he steepled his fingers and watched her intently. Cuddy sighed and slid lower under the cheap hospital blanket.

"What, you're not overjoyed to see me?" his grin melted into an exaggerated pout.

"Not particularly," Cuddy groaned, pulling herself up into a sitting position. "I'm sure Cameron sent you. But seeing as my 24 hours are up… I'm out of here."

House clamped a hand down on her arm.

"That's where we have a problem. Sorry, honey-dip."

Cuddy raised her eyebrows. She attempted to yank her arm back for only a moment, then let it lie under his grasp.

"Care to explain your reasoning there?" she snapped.

"Patience, young grasshopper." He winked. "First, I need your hand."

"All yours," Cuddy said, raising her left arm to point at her right, which was still pinned under House's iron grip.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, placing his free hand over his mouth and bugging his eyes out. "Gee, I forgot."

"Get on with it," Cuddy growled.

"Right-o."

He wrenched her hand back and held it there.

"_Aaaagh! _What the hell are you doing?" she yelped. "You're breaking my wrist!"

House frowned, as though some suspicion of his had been confirmed. "Actually," he said, "not so much."

Cuddy looked down. House had merely flexed her wrist back in a 90 degree angle.

"Wha-"

"Like I said," House said darkly. "You're not going anywhere today."

He released her wrist and Cuddy relaxed with a barely audible moan. House's hand moved to her bicep. Slowly, he began to rotate her shoulder as he raised Cuddy's arm above her head.

"Ow ow ow, alright alright!" she cried. House obligingly let her arm drop to the bed with a _thud._ "So my joints are sore, what does that mean?"

"You're a doctor," House said with a raised eyebrow.

Cuddy rubbed her burning wrist distractedly. "The simplest explanation is staph infection," she suggested. "A result of the cut… started in my left knee yesterday… and common side effects of staph infections include eventual widespread joint pain, so-"

"Fancy that, I _also _went to med school. Oxcallin it is then. I'll tell the nurses to start you on it."

House grabbed the cane that had been resting against Cuddy's hospital bed and stood.

"You're welcome," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching in a smile.

Though Cuddy smiled back, the eyes that stared out of her pallid face shone with worry.

"I was practically fine last night… are you sure?" she asked weakly.

House nodded. "I'm sure."

------------------------------

"…and it's not a staph infection."

Foreman crossed his arms with impatience. "Why wouldn't it be?"

House rapped the whiteboard with his knuckles; '_JOINT PAIN'_

"Because the patient has been in sanitary conditions since before their symptoms developed. I didn't ask you to argue, I asked for possible diagnoses. Go."

"You called us in here saying you had a case, and you just hand us one of the most generic and tame symptoms in the world of medicine?" Foreman asked, his expression dubious.

"Yes," House said gruffly. "Now go."

"But we don't know anything about the patient. Gender, age, race… it all matters," Chase said. "It could be a case of slow bone development in a preteen, or arthritis in a senior. We need something to work off of."

Cameron, who had remained silent since entering the room and reading the words on the whiteboard, bit her lip as color rose in her cheeks.

"It's obvious that House wants to honor the patient's desire to remain anonymous," she muttered softly.

"To his own doctors?" Foreman said with a snort of amusement.

"Could be a 'she'," Chase pointed out, shrugging.

Foreman rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous. There's no point to any of this until we know more about who we're diagnosing. And House, since when have you cared about a patient's desires?"

Cameron caught House's eye and raised her eyebrows. He quickly averted his gaze, clearing his throat loudly.

"I don't," he said loudly. "I just figured you might feel weird if you knew you were diagnosing the Dean Of Medicine."

Chase choked on his coffee. Cameron reached over and patted him weakly on the back, her own expression stricken.

"_Cuddy?_" Foreman asked incredulously.

"I told you you'd feel weird," House said slyly, raising his hands as though to wave away any blame.

"What about her privacy?" Cameron finally demanded after an apparent momentary loss of the ability to speak.

House scowled. "I'm attempting to diagnose her. Like Chase said, doctors need to know about their patients."

"When a patient requests privacy it's supposed to be taken seriously!"

"What part of _I am attempting to diagnose her _did you not understand?" House asked loudly. "I _am_ taking this seriously. Or do I have to marry her first?"

Chase, who had finally recovered and was using a mostly blank piece of paper to mop up the coffee stain on his shirt, snorted loudly and launched back into another fit of hacking coughs.

"Oh dear, the ass-kisser is dying," House said, running an index finger down his cheek from the corner of his eye.

Cameron glared at House, then at Chase, then back at House. The corners of Foreman's mouth were turned up with amusement.

"Female, middle-aged, Caucasian. She does fertility treatments, doesn't she?" Foreman asked loudly above the sound of Chase's panting.

"Fertility treatments gone wrong can cause all sorts of complications," Chase wheezed.

"Sure," said Cameron, her expression softening at the sound of Chase's hoarse voice. She withdrew a plastic refillable water bottle from her bag and handed it to him.

House raised his eyebrows. "You guys all know Cuddy's deepest darkest secret. Wow, rock on."

"One of the night janitors found some incriminating paperwork in her trash can. Everyone knows," Foreman said dismissively. "But since I've never once seen you talk to a janitor, how is it _you _know?"

"Because I know everything," House said lightly. "Including the fact that she gave up on getting pregnant and hasn't had any more fertility treatments since May."

The three ducklings simply stared.

"What? I told you I know everything."

"…Wow," said Cameron in amazement, resting her elbows on the glass table and leaning over so that her palms covered her eyes. "So I guess we're just giving up on the privacy thing."

"_You're _the one that wanted her looked at so bad," House whined accusingly, pointing both index fingers at her. "So, lets get a diagnosis."

"Wait, _Cameron _wanted her looked at? How did she know about it?" Chase asked with surprise. His face was still rather flushed.

"I uh," Cameron began--

"Are you _ever_ going to diagnose this woman?!" House cried indignantly. "My _god!_"

"Arthritis," Foreman suggested immediately.

"There's no family history," Cameron said, raising her head from her hands with a frown.

"Wow, did you read her whole file?" House asked, his eyes wide with mock fascination.

Cameron ignored him. "What about lupus?"

"It's never lupus," House said with a snort. "Try again. Your turn, Chase."

Chase looked up with surprise. "What? I'm thinking."

"Think faster, dumby."

Cameron interrupted. "Lyme disease?"

House glanced sideways and wiggled his chin. "I like it. Chase, do something with yourself and go check for tick bites."

Chase frowned. "Couldn't I just--?"

"Just what? Run and hide? She's an administrator… get over it."

The Australian doctor sighed and stood, giving the coffee stain on his shirt a final pat with the wad of paper in his hand.

"…Not yet though," House said, holding up a hand. "I want more ideas."

"Morgellons?" Foreman proposed with a shrug.

House wrinkled his nose. "Morgellons doesn't even officially exist. But Chase, check for rashes."

Chase raised his hand and flashed thumbs-up. He turned and took a step towards the door.

"Hey hey hey! Stop, you!" House exclaimed. "We're not done."

Chase squared his shoulders and turned back to face the room. "Vitamin C deficiency," he snapped.

House smiled. "Now was that so hard?"

Chase crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

"…Well what are you still doing here? Go!" House ordered, flapping his arms as he ushered Chase towards door. Chase grumbled something under his breath as he strode out into the hallway.

"Now as for you Cameron, I want you to make sure she gets some Vitamin C supplements in her system without her knowing it," House said, his tone serious.

"Oh, because she'll _totally_ believe that we still think she has a staph infection after Chase pokes around every inch of her body looking for rashes and tick bites," Cameron said with a scowl.

House looked amused. "Fine, just make sure she gets it. And don't take her off the Oxcallin."

Cameron nodded brusquely and hurried from the room, her hands thrust into her pockets in a slightly stiff manner.

"Foreman," House said with a grin. "Foreman, Foreman, Foreman."

"Yes?" Foreman asked calmly.

"I need you to break into her house again."

Foreman laughed, shaking his head. "No way, House. I'm not getting in the middle of this."

House raised his eyebrows. "You don't want her to get better?"

"No," Foreman said in a well-practiced measured tone, "I don't want to be a tool in whatever sort of agenda you have against your boss."

Before House could articulate a response, he found himself alone. The glass door was swinging slowly shut. He cocked his head, itching a spot above his ear. With a shrug, he limped over to his favorite chair. He withdrew his Gameboy from a pocket in his jacket and flicked it on.

Now all he had to do was wait.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

------------------------------

He had only gotten to level two when the door opened again. A solitary Cameron gazed around for a moment before her eyes settled on House curled up on the chair. He waved a finger at her as she made her way towards him and squatted down at his side.

"If she has a Vitamin C deficiency, she won't soon," she said with a small smile.

"Good to hear it," House said. His attention had already strayed back to the little glowing screen in his hands. He wrinkled his nose and smacked a button repeatedly as the tinny music that crackled out of the speakers grew even more frantic.

Cameron raised her eyebrows and leaned over to watch the screen for a moment. When she spoke, her tone was casual.

"So why did you change your mind about taking the case?"

House smirked. "You could teach a class. 'How to be nosy 101'."

Though he didn't look up and therefore didn't see Cameron's stony expression, he did notice her lack of response. So, he continued;

"…I decided it couldn't hurt to check on her this morning before she left. It turned out she had a symptom after all."

Now he did look up, as though to check for Cameron's approval of this response. She nodded slowly, but remained visibly bothered.

"You didn't tell Chase and Foreman that yesterday Cuddy was only experiencing pain in her left knee. That could be important," she said.

House looked back at the screen. "Her left knee was extremely compromised. She felt pain there first because that's where she was most vulnerable."

Cameron bit her lip but didn't argue. "Okay," she said in a soft voice.

"Yup," said House briskly. "Now stop worrying. It makes you annoying."

Cameron laughed humorlessly and stood. Without a word, she walked across the room and out the door.

------------------------------

"Could you uh, lean your head forward please?" Chase asked nervously.

Cuddy made a face. "You've been at it for an hour, and I haven't even been out of the city in weeks. You won't find any ticks."

Chase grimaced. "It's just—you know, House—"

"Of course," Cuddy said with a sympathetic smile. She tilted her head forward obligingly, pulling her tangled dark hair into a messy bun on top of her head—she winced as she lifted her arm to hold it there, but she bit her lip and continued to hold the mass of slightly greasy curls in place.

Chase maneuvered around the hospital bed clumsily. His gloved fingers stiffly parted the shorter hairs at the nape of her neck, and he leaned forward, slowly moving up her scalp.

"So, what did you do?" Cuddy asked conversationally.

"E-excuse me?" Chase stuttered.

"Why did you get stuck doing this?" she inquired over her shoulder. "You must have pissed him off somehow."

Chase laughed weakly. "House? He just doesn't like me."

"He doesn't like anyone," Cuddy said pointedly.

"I just didn't come up with a diagnosis fast enough," Chase grumbled. Now that the conversation was actually flowing, his fingers moved more confidently through Cuddy's thick hair.

"Psh," Cuddy said; though Chase couldn't see her face, she rolled her eyes instinctively anyway. "There's no point to any of this."

Chase paused in his examination and stood back, looking at her with a quizzical expression.

"Do you really believe that?" he asked. He didn't sound condescending or dubious—simply curious.

Cuddy's chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath. "Well," she said hesitantly, "perhaps I don't. But whatever I have, it's something that House shouldn't be wasting his time on."

"You don't know that," Chase said, shaking his head slightly. He gently placed a hand on the back of Cuddy's head and guided it back down so that her chin touched the neck of her shapeless hospital gown. "We just want to catch whatever it is before you get worse."

Cuddy sighed. "Staph infection makes perfect sense to me. I don't see why House insists upon being so… safe. It's very unlike him. Usually he just goes with a diagnosis and either watches the patient get better or watches the patient die. He waits until the last minute… he screws up… but he fixes them in the end anyway."

Chase smirked at the tone of admiration in her voice. "It must feel weird to have him as your doctor," he said hesitantly.

Cuddy shrugged; a tendril of dark hair escaped her fingers and tumbled down her back. "He should be working on bigger things. If he'd hurry up and cure this then I could march down to his office and tell him to do his job."

Chase chuckled. "I'm done," he said, backing up a few paces and sitting down on the stool that remained as evidence of House's visit earlier that morning. "You're all clear."

Cuddy smiled faintly. "So then you still don't know what it is," she said, her calm voice sounding slightly strained.

"We will soon enough," said Chase confidently. "It could still be a Vitamin C defi—"

He was interrupted by a soft buzzing noise. He cocked his head curiously and looked around.

"Do you have a phone in here?" he asked suspiciously.

Cuddy grinned guiltily. "It's my own hospital, I'm allowed to break the rules."

"Right," said Chase with a smile. "If you don't mind me asking, why do you need to?"

Cuddy reached over to her purse-- it was resting on the mini table beside her bed. She fumbled around inside, casting Chase a slightly apologetic look. "I called my secretary and told him I had to go on an emergency business trip. He's directing all of the important calls to my cell phone; this way I don't have to find any sort of substitute for while I'm out of the office."

"Nice," Chase said as he hopped down off of the stool and picked up the file he'd placed on the counter earlier. "Well, just make sure you get enough rest."

Cuddy nodded at him as she withdrew her hand from her bag; in it, a vibrating black phone. She flipped it open with one hand and held it to her cheek.

"Lisa Cuddy speaking," she said in an authoritative voice.

Chase took that as an invitation to leave. With a nervous little wave, he slid silently out the door.

It slid shut behind him with a satisfying _thuck!_. Chase stopped and glanced up and down the hallway. Upon seeing that it was empty, he groaned softly and sank back against the glass wall behind him, thankful that the shades were closed. Rubbing his temples, he took a deep breath.

He muttered something that sounded vaguely like "never again".

Then he straightened up, patted the wrinkles out of his lab coat, and walked casually down the hall towards the elevator.

------------------------------

"So what do we do now?" Cameron asked, crossing her arms under her chest.

House looked up from the whiteboard—he had just finished drawing a thick black line through the words _LYME DISEASE _and _MORGELLONS_, leaving _VIT. C DEFICIENCY _and _JOINT PAIN_, the latter of which was written at the top of the board, and had been underlined.

"We wait," he said simply. "Now she'll get better, or she'll get worse. But most likely neither until tomorrow."

The two looked slightly unsure about that approach, but remained silent. Chase was the first to move; he walked over to the table and began straightening up the few papers on it. The corner of a sleek silver laptop poked out from beneath a manila folder-- he scooped it up, dumping the folder off it, and placed the laptop in his briefcase with a metallic flash.

"See you tomorrow then," he said, tugging off his lab coat and replacing it with a brown blazer.

Cameron, who had been standing still and looking contemplative, nodded distractedly and set about gathering her own things.

"Where's Foreman?" Cameron asked as the door swung shut behind Chase.

House was now standing over the table and staring at Cuddy's file.

"The loser left this morning 'cause he didn't want to be a man. Don't worry, I'll make him work _extra _hard tomorrow."

"Oh," she said. Though her bag was slung over her shoulder and her lab coat was hung neatly in the corner, she didn't move. "..aren't you going home?"

"Huh? Yeah," he said distractedly, his eyes faltering slightly in their movement across the page he was reading.

Cameron shifted her feet awkwardly. "Well… good night."

"Uh-huh."

Her brow creased with worry as she took a final glance at the doctor, who was still poring over Cuddy's file and utterly lost in concentration. His narrowed eyes raced across the page—searching for something, anything, that they could have missed.

------------------------------

"How are you?"

"Excuse me?"

Cuddy stared up at House, her weary face lit up with amused curiosity.

"How are you?" House repeated. He hung hesitantly in the doorway, gripping his cane tightly with both hands.

"Who are you at what have you done with House?" she asked, rolling over on her side so she could look at him directly.

"Here I am trying to be nice, and you're not letting me," House whined.

"I'm okay," Cuddy said quietly.

"You're pale," he observed. The door slid shut behind him as he limped across the room and towards her. His cane made little _ping_ing noises as it bounced up and down on the linoleum floor.

He placed a hand on her clammy forehead. Cuddy flinched slightly at his touch, then directed her eyes across the room so as not to look at his face-- which was now uncomfortably close to her own.

"You don't have a fever."

"That's great," she said lamely, raising her arm and knocking his hand away. "I feel like my body's going to fall apart."

"So you're not getting any better," House said thoughtfully.

"The nurse said we wouldn't see any sort of noticeable change one way or the other until tomorrow," Cuddy said desperately. "This doesn't necessarily mean that the meds aren't working."

House frowned down at her. "Don't fool yourself."

Cuddy slumped down into the mound of pillows at her back. Her expression was pained.

"We need more symptoms before we can make any sort of informed diagnosis. You have to get worse before you get better," House said, his voice low.

Cuddy made a brave attempt at a smile. "I never cared when you did this with all your other patients, but it's dawning on me that perhaps I should have."

House narrowed his eyes. "You're scared," he said, sounding surprised.

Cuddy sighed. "Wouldn't _you_ be? If you had no idea what was wrong with you."

House didn't answer. Instead, he peeled back the multitude of blankets heaped upon the bed.

"How's the knee?" he asked, examining the cotton bandage. His fingers crept higher up her thigh, under the hem of the hospital gown--

Cuddy smacked his hand away. "You're sick," she growled. She was smiling though, and when she continued, the exasperation in her voice had evaporated.

"Hurts like a bitch," she said. "Some blood has been leaking through the stitches too."

"Probably because your immune system is focused on your joints," House mused.

Cuddy shrugged jerkily. "That makes sense."

House threw the blankets back over Cuddy's legs and took a few steps back.

"Well," he said with an exaggerated sigh, "seeing as my attempt to get to third base has failed, I have no more business here."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Good night House," she said with a sigh

"Good night Cuddles."

She shook her head with disbelief as he walked out the door. The weak grin that had been plastered upon her face quickly melted into a grimace as she leaned back into the bed.

She blinked rapidly as tears began to cloud her vision. She exhaled slowly, gripping the sides of the bed with white knuckles. Now was not the time to cry.

Not yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

------------------------------

"You're late," House said over his shoulder as he wiped the whiteboard clear.

Foreman's face was set in an expression that clearly said 'I'm-not-putting-up-with-any-of-your-shit-today'. He crossed his arms as he sat down in his favorite chair at the table.

"I'm the first one here," he said with agitation, "and according to that clock—" he pointed at it— "the one you've been using since before I was hired here—I'm not late for another seven minutes."

House raised his eyebrows. "The clock is wrong."

It was apparent that Foreman didn't plan on humoring House any longer. He glanced about the table, then picked up a piece of paper at random and began reading.

The next few minutes passed in silence. House sat on the cushy chair in the corner and popped a few white pills in his mouth, staring out the window with a calculating look on his face. After five minutes or so, Chase wandered groggily in. Upon noticing the tension in the air, he decided not to break the silence and made his way to the nearest chair wordlessly.

"Sorry I'm late!" Cameron exclaimed as she burst in through the door a good ten minutes later.

"No worries," said House from the chair, "you're just on time."

Foreman glared up from his reading, but simply shook his head and sank further back into his chair.

House straightened up with some difficulty and tucked his cane under his arm. He grasped the sides of the chair he'd recently vacated and began to slowly drag it across the room towards the table.

"What… are you doing?" Chase asked, narrowing one eye and raising the brow of the other.

House merely grunted. As he neared the table, he surprised his staff by turning and pulling the chair towards the door.

"Do me a favor and open that for me," he growled at Cameron.

She looked skeptical, but jumped up all the same. She held the door open as House dragged the chair to rest firmly in the middle of the doorway.

House was now standing outside of the room, the chair blocking his way back in. With surprising quickness, he climbed over the back of the chair and plopped down into it. Then he pried Cameron's unsuspecting hands off of the door. The chair held it open.

House leaned back in the chair and looked up at a bemused Cameron, Chase, and Foreman.

"You may not leave this room until you each contribute three separate possible diagnosis for Lisa Cuddy," he said pleasantly.

Three pairs of eyebrows reached for the ceiling.

"Did she present any new symptoms besides joint pain?" Chase asked, his tone sounding almost hopeful.

"Why, do you want her to?" House asked. "Because if you've been waiting for her to bite it I'll just let you borrow my cane. They make excellent bludgeons."

Chase looked affronted. "I_ like_ Cuddy, I don't want her to die," he said defensively.

"Watch out Cameron," House mock-whispered; his voice easily carried across the room. "You should keep your boy-toy on a shorter leash."

Cameron began articulating an indignant response, but Chase, his face pink, was already speaking;

"I mean I respect her as my superior, _whatever_, the point is we need more symptoms! We can't keep shooting blindly like this, there are hundreds of possibilities!"

House simply shrugged, then leaned back and clasped his hands on his lap. He closed his eyes and began to hum what sounded like the Jeopardy theme song.

"You're unbelievable," Foreman groaned.

House hummed louder.

"It's still not _nearly _life-threatening," Chase grumbled. "Cuddy wants you to treat _real_ patients."

House opened his eyes and turned to narrow them at Chase.

"I liked you better as an ass-kisser," he snarled. "Don't tell me how to do my job."

As Chase looked down with embarrassment, Foreman looked up.

"Chase is right," he said darkly. "Cuddy just needs Advil."

"But for WHAT?!" House barked, his voice rising dangerously. He leapt from the chair, grasping his cane and barely catching himself before his momentum carried him further. He glared across the room at his staff, who all flinched at the tone of his voice.

"We don't know," Cameron said softly. "If you want to consider her discomfort a symptom, it could be Coeliac Disease. It could just as easily be TSS. If she had depression, I'd say Fibromyalgia…"

House's expression softened a margin, but he was still frowning as he sat back down in the chair.

"It's not Coeliac Disease, she would have more symptoms. And she's not stupid enough to have TSS. If she's depressed, she isn't taking medication for it." He paused, then said reluctantly, "Fibromyalgia counts as one. You have two more to go."

"Haemochromatosis?" Foreman suggested. He was tapping his foot subconsciously against the table leg; Chase glanced down at it with agitation every few taps.

"It _is_ notorious for being protean," Cameron said, looking at House desperately. "That counts as two."

"Not for you it doesn't," House snapped. "Don't try to take credit for Foreman's work. Although I suppose he deserves it… he did steal your article way-back-when."

Cameron sucked her lips in and stared awkwardly at the table. Foreman stopped tapping his foot and rolled his eyes.

In the absence of the noise, Chase blinked a few times and looked up at House. "What about ALL?"

"Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia… I like it," House said. He sounded genuinely surprised. "One point for Chase."

"But that's incredibly rare in adults," Cameron argued.

"It makes sense," House said simply. "The symptoms fit." He cocked his head and stared off into space, as though contemplating the exact probability of Chase's diagnosis being correct.

"You really think Cuddy has Leukemia?" Foreman asked skeptically.

"No," said House shortly.

Cameron looked disgruntled. "Then why does Chase get a point?"

Chase shrugged playfully. He was clearly pleased.

"Because it's a good idea," said House simply, pulling himself into a standing position and limping over to the side of the door. "Chase, go do a bone marrow biopsy."

Chase grinned. He quickly stood and made his way towards the door, tripping on the arm rest and jumping awkwardly over the chair.

"Why did you let him leave? He only had one suggestion _and _you said you don't think it's correct," Cameron said angrily.

"Jealous?" House said with a mock pout. "It was a good idea. It fits with the symptoms. Positive reinforcement, it's all the rage these days. And no, I don't think Chase is right. It's a huge stretch, but it's the kind of thinking you should all be doing. We're looking for the obscure here, people!"

Foreman sat placidly, but Cameron bristled.

"Oh, stop wallowing over there. You can go," said House after a moment. "I have some business to attend to anyway. And as much as I enjoy picturing you climbing over the cushions in those heels and falling on your ass in the hallway, I don't imagine an empty chair will hold you up for very long."

House moved towards the white board. He plucked a black pen out of his pocket and wrote;

_JOINT PAIN  
__FIBROMYALGIA  
__HAEMOCHROMATOSIS  
__ALL_

Foreman clambered over the chair and down the hallway as House wrote, but Cameron remained sitting in stony silence. It was not until House shot her a disapproving glance, crawled over the chair, and was out of sight that she stood, removed her shoes, and hopped up onto the chair cushion with bare feet. She stepped nimbly over the back and landed with a muffled _thud_ on the other side.

Glancing around furtively, she slipped her heels back on and marched down the hallway to the staff room.

------------------------------

"Could you lie on your side for me?"

Cuddy laughed cheerlessly, staring up at the bright lights of the minor-operation room. "I've been a doctor for twice as long as you have. I know the drill."

"Sorry," Chase muttered with embarrassment.

Cuddy groaned as she rolled over. "So are we going trephine or just aspirate?" she asked, her tone one of forced calm.

"Don't think we'll need trephine today," Chase said, pulling on latex gloves and screwing the small aspirate needle into a blue stylet.

Cuddy shivered in her backless hospital gown. "This is going out on a limb," she said wryly.

"Hold still," said Chase, placing a slightly nervous hand on Cuddy's shoulder. "And I know it is, but we still haven't got a clue why you're in so much pain. We have to explore every possibility."

As he spoke, he tightened his grip on her shoulder. With his other hand, Chase slid the needle into the skin at the back of her hipbone. Cuddy gasped with pain and screwed up her face.

"Yeah," she hissed, gritting her teeth. "I- _AAGHH!_"

Chase flicked his wrist as he twisted the needle through bone. "We're in the marrow cavity," he said loudly. He moved his free hand to grip the curve of Cuddy's waist and hold the area still. "Almost done."

Cuddy gave a soft yelp in response.

"And we're out," he said lightly, withdrawing the needle with a swift motion and patting the pierced area with cotton.

"Hooray," Cuddy moaned.

Chase secured a small bandage over the area and stood. "I'll just take this off to the lab, and we'll know—"

"—In a few hours," Cuddy finished weakly.

"Right," said Chase with a smile. "I'm sure you don't have anything to worry about," he added, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder again.

"Sure," she said. "Jesus, it still hurts…"

"Do I have to give you the lowdown on possible side-effects?" asked Chase with a smirk.

"Expect soreness, and tell a nurse if there's redness and swelling… it's all good," she said softly.

"Great," he said cheerily. "I'll send Nurse Brenda in to get you cleaned up then."

Cuddy closed her eyes and exhaled unsteadily. "Yeah," she whispered.

Chase was already long gone.

------------------------------

House looked up at the sound of the door sliding open.

"Oh," he said gruffly. "It's you."

Chase jumped. "What are you doing in here?" he asked with surprise.

"I work here."

Chase rolled his eyes. "What are you doing in Cuddy's room?" he asked, glancing nervously at the sleeping figure on the bed next to House's stool.

House shrugged. "If she really does have ALL she could present with breathlessness or a sudden fever at any time. Someone should keep an eye on her."

"Right…" said Chase curiously. "That's what all of the machines are for. We have beepers."

House ignored him. Cuddy sighed in her sleep and tugged the blankets over her shoulders.

"Quiet, you'll wake her up," House stage-whispered.

"You were just talking a minute ago," Chase hissed back.

"No I wasn't! Now what brings you here, Kiwi?"

Chase looked exasperated. "I was looking for you. I thought I'd check on the patient while I was wandering around, but never thought you'd actually be here."

"So she's just 'the patient' now? Geez," House said with an exaggeratedly shocked expression. "So what do you need to tell me, anyway?"

Chase sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, rocking back on his heels.

It was as though a shadow had been cast over House's already dark features. "Oh wow," he muttered.

"No," said Chase, reaching up a hand as though to wave the thought away. "She doesn't have it. The biopsy was clear."

Though House relaxed, Chase looked frustrated.

"We're back at square one," he griped.

House sighed and glanced over at Cuddy, who was stirring.

"No we're not," House said loudly. He jumped from his stool, grasping Cuddy's face with a rough hand. Though one eye opened and stared up at him with confusion, the other lay half-lidded, the corner of her mouth sagging down.

"What—oh my god," Chase breathed.

"Go get help," House barked.

Chase stumbled backwards; eyes wide, mouth hanging open. "I can't believe—I had no—this is completely—"

"SHUT UP AND DO IT!" House roared.

"Okay!" Chase yelped. He turned and ran out of the room. "We've got a stroke in room five! Nurses, come on! Room five!"

House leaned over Cuddy's face. "Lisa. Can you talk? _Lisa_."

She whimpered, her jaw sagging; but otherwise, she could only stare back at him through one terrified eye.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6  
**Author's Note: I know this is irregular, but I feel I owe you an apology for taking so long with this chapter. I started school this week and things have been sort of insane for me lately. Everything is settling down now though, so don't worry :) Also, thank you all SO much for your continued support. I couldn't possibly have gotten this far without all of your wonderful words of encouragement. And now, without further ado, I give you chapter six.  
------------------------------

"CHASE!"

House's voice was nearly inhuman. The fury in his face was like nothing any of them had seen before—the few nurses who had responded to Chase's frantic call muttered made-up excuses and ducked out of the room, glancing nervously over their shoulders as they fled. Pushing past them and into the room were Cameron and Foreman, clutching their beepers and looking both confused and panicked.

Chase stood petrified.

"I didn't—" he stammered, his voice high-pitched with doubt and terror.

"What the hell is going on?!" Cameron shouted over the beeping of monitors and confused yelling.

"This IMBECILE screwed up the bone marrow biopsy and caused an embolic stroke," House replied, his voice even louder than Cameron's . He looked as though he might actually punch Chase. Cameron took a stunned step backwards, but Foreman hurried forward with a determined expression and wrenched open the medicinal supplies cabinet.

"Are we all going to stand around yelling?" he snapped as he withdrew a syringe from the cabinet and continued fumbling with an assortment of bottled liquids. "She needs a blood thinner. I'm giving her Heparin."

Foreman turned and strode towards Cuddy's limp figure on the bed. Without ado, he jammed the needle into her forearm and emptied the contents of the syringe. Cuddy gasped, her chest heaving. Her head lolled; losing the battle for control.

Cameron, who had finally regained the use of her previously frozen limbs, pulled a small flashlight out of her pocket and approached the bed. Placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, the doctor flashed the light back and forth across Cuddy's field of vision.

"Her pupils are non-reactive," she said with dismay.

"Of course they are," House snarled.

Chase remained standing, stunned, against the wall. He raised a hand to his brow and looked as though he might slump against the wall and pass out before Cuddy did.

"We need to get her on tPA," Foreman said in a commanding voice. He looked at House for his approval, and flinched at the anger still etched upon his face.

"R-right," Chase said nervously. "I'll just—"

"You won't be doing anything," House growled. "I want you out of this room right now. I don't want incompetent morons treating my patient. You're off the case, now get out before I fire you." His voice was soft and deadly.

Chase looked stunned, but Cameron said sharply;

"Chase, just leave."

He looked at her, his eyes begging for some sort of forgiveness, or understanding—but Cameron gazed back coldly.

"Yeah," he whispered hoarsely, before slumping out of the room.

"_Now _we're putting her on tPA," Foreman said angrily. "Cuddy?" he added, bending down over her. Her brow was slick with sweat, and though she shuddered, she appeared otherwise paralyzed. As she attempted to make eye contact with him, her right eyelid fluttered and her eyes rolled back in their sockets.

"She's out," said Foreman anxiously. "House?"

House stared at the scene, clutching his cane so that his knuckles bulged white.

"If Chase really did screw up, the blockage is composed of a broken piece of bone or marrow. But he's a good doctor, and if this isn't his fault—if this is a _symptom—_then it's a blood clot. We have to give her tPA. If the clot doesn't dissolve then it's marrow, and we surgically remove it."

House walked slowly over to the bed, watching as Cuddy's frantic breathing slowed; her chest was now rising and falling with an unnerving slowness. His expression was unreadable, and though his eyes looked in the direction of Cuddy's limp form, they were strangely glazed. A muscle in his neck twitching, he turned to stare at Cameron.

"You're the moral one," he said softly. "We all know what happens when tPA fails to work."

Cameron looked crestfallen. "House, we don't have time to argue, she's going to—"

"It's standard procedure," Foreman said, his eyebrows contracted with confusion. "What are you playing at, House?!"

House looked at Foreman blankly. His head gave a small involuntary jerk as he moved his gaze back down to Cuddy, her face pale and slack. His was equally pale, but his features were tight.

"You're right," he said suddenly. Cameron jumped.

"Put her on tPA. Let me know if it works."

He turned and limped away from the bed.

Cameron's eyes were wide with anxiety; even Foreman seemed unnerved by House's strange decision-making.

"House—" Cameron began.

He didn't look back as the door slid shut behind him.

"Alright then," said Foreman darkly. "Let's do it."

------------------------------

Wilson sighed as his fingers picked absently at the corners of the file resting upon his desk.

"What a day," he muttered, gazing out of his window at the rapidly darkening sky.

"Mine was worse," growled a voice from the door.

"Oh—House! I didn't hear you come in," Wilson said, jumping slightly.

"I put her on tPA," he mumbled, with the tone of someone forced to admit something unpleasant.

"Pardon?" Wilson said with a look of incomprehension.

"She had a stroke," House said dully.

Wilson looked up sharply. "Please tell me you're talking about some new patient you have, that Cuddy has fully recovered, and she's sitting at home reading singles ads in the newspaper as we speak."

"I have no new patient, Cuddy had a stroke, and she's passed out with tPA slowly dissolving a clot in her brain stem," said House. His blue eyes pierced through the shadows growing at the corners of the room, staring at Wilson broodingly.

Wilson raised both hands to his temples. His eyes stared unseeingly past his fingers.

"That was unexpected," he breathed softly. He sounded almost awed.

House moved further into the office and sank down into the chair in front of Wilson's desk. He averted his gaze, and said suddenly;

"I didn't want to use tPA."

Wilson lowered his hands. He cocked his head, brow furrowing.

"You… did the right thing," he said slowly. "Medical studies have shown that tPA increases a patient's chances at full recovery by thirteen percent."

"Well obviously it only gets good PR. The ones that aren't cured can't complain because they're all dead," House spat.

Wilson narrowed his eyes.

"You're _actually_ worried about her," he said accusingly.

"I'm not worried," House growled. "If the tPA had failed, she would've been dead an hour ago."

Wilson grimaced. "So she's okay?"

House exhaled heavily and raised a hand to rub his temple.

"She's stable."

The younger doctor shook his head with disbelief. "Wow. What the hell caused it? I thought she was just… I don't know, under the weather."

"I thought it was Chase," said House, casting his eyes downward. "Blamed him for screwing up the bone marrow biopsy."

"You did a _bone marrow _biopsy?" Wilson asked loudly, momentarily jerked out of his shocked stupor.

"Yeah yeah," House said dismissively. "But it wasn't that. If Chase had chipped off a piece of bone, the blockage wouldn't be dissolving."

"But it is," Wilson said quickly. He sounded as though he needed the assurance.

"It is."

Wilson sighed. "I have to go see her."

"She's out cold," House said with a one-shouldered shrug. "Have fun with that."

"I take it you're not going to come," Wilson said as he stood and started towards the door. He sounded vaguely disappointed.

House shook his head and clucked his tongue. "I'll pass, thanks."

------------------------------

It was dark. The main lighting system in the hallway had been extinguished, leaving only a few orange safety-lights to illuminate the gloom. House stood beneath one such light, looking apprehensively the door in front of him.

He shook his head sharply, turned and took a step away, then stopped. He grimaced, then walked back and opened the door.

The room was even darker than the hallway had been. His hand groped for a light switch, but he appeared to think better of it and took another step inside.

"House?"

The voice was soft enough to have been imagined. House squinted through the shadows at where he supposed the bed was.

"You're awake," he said uncomfortably. As his eyes adjusted to the shadows, he approached the bed. He grasped for his favorite stool and hesitantly sat down.

Cuddy exhaled slowly.

"Maybe you'll need a cane," he said with a smile. "We can be cripple buddies."

She wheezed with what sounded like a weak attempt at laughter.

He paused, blinking nervously. The bright screens of monitors propped up around Cuddy's bedside cast a green glow upon his troubled features.

"Do they know the extent of the damage yet?" he asked in a low voice.

"No," she whispered.

"Well," he said with a shrug. "Let's see. High five."

He raised his palm over Cuddy's bed.

Her breath caught in her throat as her left hand twitched beneath the sheets. It rose a few inches beneath the white tent of linens, but then she shuddered and it fell back to the mattress.

House's brow furrowed. "Forget cane," he said softly, lowering his hand. "You're gonna need a stretcher."

Cuddy's breath was coming in short gasps. House looked down with concern, but his expression turned to one of dismay as he saw her eyes glistening through the darkness.

"Oh come on," he said weakly. "I'm sorry."

She shut her eyes, biting her lip. Tears clung to her eyelashes.

"Fix me," she begged, her voice faint.

House looked away, frowning at the dark room.

"I can't make any promises."

No response. Monitors beeped unnoticed in the background; the sound of Cuddy's repressed sobs seemed much louder.

House stared fixedly at the floor. Minutes passed; after a while, he gripped his cane and began the effort of standing.

"Greg."

He slumped back down onto the stool.

"You never call me that," he said softly. He narrowed his eyes at her with a slight frown.

"Stay," she whispered.

"Why?"

She paused, seeming to gather energy for the words she would say next.

"I—don't want to be alone."

House's face fell. He flinched and shook his head, lacing his hands together over the top of his cane and leaning forward on it.

"You're better off alone than with me," he said firmly.

Cuddy looked back at him, her expression one of gloomy satisfaction.

"You're so hard on yourself," she said, her lips quivering in an attempt at a smile.

House shook his head. "This isn't about me," he muttered.

"Greg," she said again.

He stood and turned away from her.

"Please," she whispered.

He didn't look back.

------------------------------

_My shadow's the only one that walks beside me_

_My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating_

_Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me_

'_Til then I walk alone_

_Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah—_

"I never took you for the emo type," Wilson said with an amused grin.

House looked up, flicking off the speakers. "Good, cause I'm not!" he yelped, tugging down the sleeves of his jacket and rubbing his wrists.

"Ha, ha," Wilson groaned.

"So what do you want on this fine morning?" House asked, pursing his lips and smiling in a way that made him look amusingly unstable.

"To give you an update." Wilson's expression grew serious. "Cuddy has regained some movement. And she's talking—but she's having trouble with remembering things."

House frowned. "Such as?"

"Birthdays, phone numbers… nothing major," said Wilson with a slight smile. "But it looks like the tPA was worth it. She's getting better."

"No," said House sharply, narrowing his eyes. "She's not _better_. We still don't know the cause of any of her symptoms." He shook his head. "It's back to the white board."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for taking forever with this chapter. I promise I haven't forgotten about this fic—I have a wonderful time writing it, it's just hard to dedicate enough time to it since homework has been eating away at my brain since school started. Thank you all so much for your patience and continued support.  
------------------------------

"You have spots on your retinas," House announced. He leaned in thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes at the red specks dotting Cuddy's pale blue ones.

Cuddy shifted nervously as he stood up, lowering the ophthalmoscope in his hand and turning to Cameron and Foreman. They both stood with their arms crossed; Cameron's expression was determinedly frosty.

"Well?" House asked.

Cameron looked pointedly away, biting her lip. Foreman simply shrugged noncommittally and gazed absently into space over House's shoulder.

"Oh, _what?_" House snapped.

"Are you planning on apologizing to Chase?" Cameron asked, still staring fixedly away.

House looked around incredulously. "Pfft!" he laughed. "For what?"

"For scaring the living daylights out of him" Foreman snapped.

"Oh, not you too," House snarled. "Cameron is a woman, it's her job to be obnoxiously nosy and compassionate. You're just an ignorant _dude_."

Foreman rolled his eyes. Cameron glowered.

"He'll get over it," House said dismissively. "When he's ready, he'll be back."

"House."

The three doctors turned towards the sound of Cuddy's alarmed voice. She stared transfixed at her lap—it was speckled with crimson. Eyes widening, she rubbed her upper lip. Her breathing quickened as her fingers met the wet feel of blood.

"That's not good," House said thoughtfully.

Cuddy's hand quivered as she felt messily at the blood now dripping rapidly from her nose. House limped over to the cabinet and tossed a tissue box at her bed. Cuddy fumbled with it slightly, leaving unnerving red handprints on the floral print.

"This is your second one today?" Cameron asked, her tone much softer now that she was no longer focused on House.

Cuddy nodded stiffly as she jammed a fistful of tissues at her nostrils.

"Whatever the clot was caused by, it sure as heck wasn't a coagulation thing," she said, her voice slightly muffled. "These blood thinners have got me leaking like a bad faucet."

Cameron looked slightly put down as she offered Cuddy another tissue. "We'll figure it out. What do the flecked eyes say?" she asked, directing the question at Foreman.

"Diabetes is the most tame diagnosis," Foreman said with a concentrated frown. "Or it could be a vascular condition. Fragile capillaries could burst and cause the specks."

"Are you an idiot?" House sneered.

Foreman looked affronted. "No?"

House slammed the ophthalmoscope down on the counter. Cameron flinched; she seemed to momentarily forget her frustration, and instead stared at him with a combination of curiosity and apprehension.

"House?" Cuddy mumbled cautiously.

"Damnit," he muttered. "God damnit."

Without another word, he trudged out of the room.

------------------------------

Wind rustled faintly through the crispy autumn leaves. Somewhere on the lake, a duck was quacking loudly. On the bank beyond it, a toddler splashed in the water while his mother told him exasperatedly to stay on the grass.

House lay back on the picnic table. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He lay there utterly still, his face set in a natural-looking frown, until his eyes twitched behind closed lids at the approaching sound of crunching leaves.

"Hello Wilson."

Wilson flinched. House smiled, eyes still closed.

"House, what the hell was that?"

"My Wilson-sense was tingling."

Wilson sighed. "I'm talking about back there. With Cuddy? Cameron told me—"

"Oh, well if _Cameron _told you then it _must _be serious," House snapped. "Geez, it's just Cameron."

Wilson sat down on the bench next to the table, resting his elbows on the few inches of table-room not occupied by House's shoulder.

"You're evading," Wilson said flatly.

"And you're dumb," House deadpanned.

"Are you going to tell me why you're out here or not?"

House opened his eyes and squinted up at the cloudy sky. He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and closed it.

Wilson shrugged exasperatedly and began to slide off the bench.

House jerked his head around and fixed his eyes upon Wilson. "I want off the case."

Wilson's expression of consternation may have been amusing in any other situation. However, House met his wide eyes with a face set in seriousness.

"What?" Wilson asked blankly, sliding back down onto the bench.

"I want off the case."

Wilson's forehead creased as his eyebrows shot upwards.

"Why?"

"Because I don't like it," House replied firmly.

"Don't _like it?!" _Wilson spluttered. "Cuddy is as close as you can get to _liking _anyone!"

"And that's why I don't like it," House muttered.

"A case finally has some sort of emotional impact on you so you drop it like a hot iron?" Wilson asked, shaking his head.

"Caring gets in the way. I can't do my job."

"So you _do _care," Wilson said, a hint of smugness in his voice.

"It's not a good thing," House snarled. "It's nothing to be proud of."

Wilson smiled sympathetically. "You're human, House… as much as that bothers you. And care is one of the better human emotions."

House sat up, his hands straying subconsciously to his left leg. "Care clouds judgment."

"So what, did you screw up?" Wilson asked. "I thought Chase did."

"Chase didn't do anything."

"So what did you do?"

"NOTHING!" House roared. Wilson jolted back in alarm.

House's slumped form seemed to wilt even further as he leaned forward and buried his face in one hand.

"I haven't done anything. I didn't stop the stroke. I haven't cured her."

A silence fell. The two men sat; House drooped upon the table, and Wilson slightly slouched as well. House stared at Wilson in a way that neither of them were comfortable with; a look filled with desperation.

Across the lake, the disgruntled mother had finally snatched up her toddler; the sound of her scolding echoed faintly across the expanse of water. Wilson squinted his eyes in their direction.

"Poor kid," he said softly.

House grunted noncommittally and stared at his shoes.

Wilson addressed the lake; "I know you're not perfect. _You_ know you're not perfect. You_ always _screw up a case before you solve it."

He paused, but House remained silent on the table behind him.

"You had an idea in there," Wilson said slowly. "What was it?"

House grimaced at his laces. "Endocarditis. Roth's Spots on the eyes are a classic symptom. Palpitations led to the stroke, idling blood in the joints led to the pain."

"It all fits," Wilson said wearily.

"I don't want it to," House muttered. "Endocarditis is the big bad wolf of heart disease."

Wilson shrugged. "Sometimes bad things happen to good people. It's your job to fix it." He fixed House with a stern look. "You _are _going to fix it?"

"Make someone else do it. I don't want to be involved."

"You don't have a choice."

House slid off the table, hopping on his left leg for a moment before grasping his cane and straightening up.

"We'll see."

------------------------------

Rain trickled down the window pane. The little beads of liquid glowed with specks of white and red from a far off road; one that House should be traveling down at this very moment. Instead, he stood within the dry expanse of his office, bouncing his favorite tennis ball absently against the floor. The darkness beyond the window pane was reflected upon the face of the man who stared out of it; his features were almost completely hidden in shadows.

He didn't start as the utter silence of his office was interrupted by the sound of the door slowly being opened. Only upon intense inspection could one have discerned the slightest change in his expression; the eyes that had seconds before been staring blankly out the window were now focused determinedly on the droplets of water trickling down it.

"Hey."

The voice was soft and tentative. As the tennis ball bounced back up from the floor, House caught it firmly in his hand.

"Hey," he muttered, his eyes following the path of a raindrop as it maneuvered its way down the glass.

"I can see the parking lot from my window. I was surprised to see your bike still here."

"I was doing paperwork," he responded stiffly, his eyes flitting back up the window in search of another raindrop to trail.

"You're not usually this bad at lying."

"You're not usually this bad at staying healthy," he responded, still addressing the window.

It sounded as though something was being dragged across the floor. Grimacing at his inability to control his curiosity, House turned to face the room.

Lisa Cuddy smiled weakly up at him from the seat of a wheelchair. She looked terribly fragile in an off-white hospital gown, her pale arms and legs appearing much skinnier than House could ever remember seeing them. Small hands grasped the tops of the wheels as she slowly pushed the chair forward.

House's eyebrows twitched as he bit the side of his tongue, his face hardening.

"That's gotta suck," he said softly.

Cuddy inclined her head in a slight nod. "It's not permanent," she said, coming to a stop a few feet in front of him.

"Now we know the stroke was a symptom," House said, staring at the floor near her bare feet instead of at her face. "Chase didn't screw up."

"I know he didn't. You've all been…" she trailed, off, as though searching for a word of praise that wouldn't sound sarcastic.

House continued watching the floor in silence.

"Thank you," she said tentatively. Though her pale face appeared nearly skeletal in the dim light of the office, her eyes glistened through the shadows.

"I haven't done anything yet," House said darkly. He raised his gaze to her face, meeting her tortured expression with one of his own.

"Don't take this out on yourself," she begged. "I don't blame you for wanting to give up. None of this makes any sense."

House dropped his gaze again; an expression of shame flashed across his features before disappearing into the shadows.

"I don't want to give up," he muttered.

Though Cuddy's mouth twitched upwards in a smile, her eyes continued to glisten with renewed tears.

"I don't want you to either," she whispered.

An awkward silence fell between them; House resumed his scrutiny of the carpet, but Cuddy's eyes remained fixed blearily upon his shadow-obscured face.

"Wilson mentioned Endocarditis," she said slowly. "The next step would be a heart monitor to check for palpitations. He also set up an echocardiogram for tomorrow."

"Great," said House distractedly. He picked absently at a splinter on his cane. "Good."

"Good?" she repeated.

"I reserved an operation room for the day after tomorrow," he muttered.

Her expression was blank. "What?"

"Hearts don't generally enjoy having tumors. So let's get rid of it."

"That—that soon?" she stammered.

He raised his head again to meet her eyes. "Yes."

"You're sure about this?"

"No."

"Okay," she said dazedly.

"Okay."

"I'll… I'll leave you with your paperwork then," she said quietly.

"Right," he muttered.

She began wheeling the chair slowly backwards, her eyes still locked on his.

"This is the right thing?"

"Yes."

"Should I trust you?"

"Do you?"

"Yes," she whispered. She paused at the door, a tear sparkling on her cheek.

"Good night," he said, turning back to the rain-streaked window pane.

"Good night."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Author's Note: We're almost done, folks! As always, thank you so much for sticking with this little story of mine. Not much else to say… so here's Chapter 8!  
------------------------------

"_Please_, listen to me."

"Nope."

"You were wrong."

"No, the test was wrong."

"House, _stop._"

House's face twitched with annoyance as he begrudgingly ceased in his failing attempt to outrun Doctor Cameron. He cocked his head at her with raised eyebrows. She met his eyes with a determined expression, flicking her wavy hair over her shoulder agitatedly.

"The echocardiogram of her heart was completely clear. You were wrong. Big deal. Don't put Cuddy's life in jeopardy just because you can't stomach the fact that—"

"Oh, be quiet," he snapped, glancing around the fluorescently-lit hallway impatiently. "Tests lie."

"Do you want her to get better or not? You're not treating her for the right thing!" Cameron hissed.

House glanced at his watch.

"How can you _possibly_ be okay with open heart surgery for something she doesn't even have?" Cameron pressed, her voice rising angrily. "_Removing _part of her heart that may not have anything wrong with it? What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"The_ test _was_ wrong_," House growled. He glanced around the hallway once more, then shot Cameron an irritated look before resuming his limp down the hall towards the offices.

"_Stop!_" Cameron yelped, hurrying to catch up with him. "This is insane!"

House quickened his pace. "The infected area could be anywhere," he said dismissively. "Echocardiograms only cover the basics. I'll find it when I can really see it… during the surgery."

His muscles tensed as Cameron gripped his upper arm with impressive strength.

"House," she whispered, her voice dangerously level. "Did you give Cuddy the results?"

House smacked her knee with his cane, and she released her hold on him with a cry. He promptly began walking again.

"No," he called loudly, without looking back. He groaned as the sound of Cameron's high-heels clacking on the floor approached him once more.

"I'm telling her," she announced as she stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "She trusts you, but that doesn't mean she'll let you do an extremely dangerous surgery for nothing."

House's hand shot forward and tightened around a fistful of Cameron's hair. She flinched, looking almost fearful, as he yanked her roughly towards him. His livid face inches away from hers, he snarled;

"If you tell her, I won't just fire you. I will personally ensure that you are never able to hold a job again."

Cameron stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth hanging slightly open. House glared back for a moment before turning away, relinquishing his grip on the side of her scalp with a slight shove.

He limped down the hallway and was quickly lost in the crowd.

Cameron remained standing where he had released her, all color drained from her face. Her eyes still wide with shock, she closed her jaw with some difficulty.

Slowly, she ran a slightly shaking hand through her disheveled hair, and turned to walk dejectedly away.

------------------------------

Wilson shook his head with amazement. "You must _really _care about her, House."

House shrugged, tossing a Vicodin into his mouth.

"She has a nice ass."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "You're not getting out of it that easily."

House simply raised his eyebrows at Wilson, as though daring him to continue.

"You're worried sick about her," Wilson announced, clasping his hands on his desk and leaning forward in a slightly patronizing way.

House flinched and averted his eyes from Wilson's piercing look. Turning his attention to the Vicodin bottle in his hands, he began unscrewing and re-screwing the cap with well-practiced dexterity.

Wilson smirked, and continued; "You're being irrational with the surgery."

House glanced up. "Well—"

"No, you are," snapped Wilson. "Because you feel like you need action. You need her fixed to restore normalcy to your sad little life."

House raised his eyebrows, but didn't reply.

"You also don't like her this close because it unnerves you. You don't trust yourself," Wilson concluded. "So you want to get it over with."

After twisting the Vicodin cap around a few more times, House looked up. "Are you done? You know I learned long ago to stop listening whenever you use that tone."

Wilson appeared torn between exasperation and amusement. "Right," he said with a crooked smile.

"Don't act like you're not worried too," House snapped.

"So you _were_ listening," Wilson said smugly

"Shut up. And you are."

"Of course I'm worried," Wilson said, his expression quickly melting from amused to somber. "I've been worried this whole time."

House cocked his head. "Then again, you worry about everything."

Wilson shrugged apologetically. "With you to look after, who wouldn't? Weren't we just talking about your complete lack of responsibility?"

House narrowed his eyes, stowing the Vicodin back in his pocket. Wilson raised his eyebrows.

"I'm doing the surgery," House said firmly.

Wilson sighed. "I know."

"And for the record," House said, leaning back in the chair opposite Wilson, "She _does _have a nice ass."

Wilson ignored him. For a time, they sat in a comfortable silence; Wilson opened a file that perched upon a precariously tall stack of folders, and House put his feet up on the desk with an exaggerated sigh. Wilson raised an eyebrow at this, but merely shook his head and lowered his eyes to the contents of the file. House grabbed a section of newspaper that was sticking out of the trashcan and, after blowing off some crumbs, shook it open and began to read.

After finishing a rather awkward article on the side effects of sword-swallowing, House glanced over the top of the paper.

Wilson's forehead was in his hands, his eyes obscured by shadow. The file in front of him was closed.

"Looks like you're having fun," House remarked quizzically.

Wilson jerked his head up, his eyes looking suspiciously shinier than usual.

"If anything goes wrong," he muttered hoarsely. "You have to stop. If something seems off, if you get a bad feeling— "

"_Now _who's the worried one?" House grumbled, sliding his feet off the table and tossing the newspaper back into the trash.

"House," Wilson begged. "Please be careful. If anything were to happen…"

House frowned. "Do you think I want to kill her?"

"No," Wilson said quickly. "No, it's just—"

"I know," House muttered.

Wilson sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is awful."

"I know."

"You're sure the test lied?"

"No."

Wilson looked agonized.

"This is the only way," House mumbled. "It's all we have to go on."

Wilson nodded slowly.

House grimaced. "Cross your fingers."

------------------------------

"Who did you bribe?"

House looked up, snapping a scrub over his shoe.

"_Pardonnez-moi?"_

Foreman crossed his arms. "No surgeon in their right mind would agree to a blind operation like this. So who did you bribe?"

House shrugged noncommittally, brushing past Foreman and through the doors leading into the operation room. Foreman shook his head, but followed him obediently inside.

Cuddy was staring silently up at the ceiling from atop the operating table. Bustling about the room was a group of perfectly content-looking people, clad from head to toe in the minty green color of hospital scrubs. It became clear to Foreman that House hadn't bribed anyone; rather, he had simply lied.

"Good afternoon Doctor Rodgers!" House exclaimed cheerily. He flashed a smile at the group of doctors and interns who were clustered off to the side of the room. A mousy-haired man looked up from a file which was presumably Cuddy's, and smiled back.

"Doctor House," he said serenely. "Always a pleasure."

Foreman snorted. Doctor Rodgers's smile faltered slightly, but he continued; "We're removing and replacing the pulmonary valve today, are we not?"

House nodded, still smiling. "Absolutely."

"Wonderful," Rodgers said, nodding at the anesthesiologist before turning to Cuddy. "Alright Lisa," he said, his smile growing even wider. "We're ready to go."

Cuddy nodded stiffly, her pale skin glinting under the blazing lights that hung over her.

Any shadow of a smile fell away from House's face as he limped slowly over to the operation table. Cuddy looked up at him wordlessly, her face set with fearful determination. His own expression was pained as he nodded at her slowly. He jerked his head at the anesthesiologist, who brought the rubber mask up to cover Cuddy's nose and mouth.

"Count backwards from ten," the woman said.

Cuddy caught House's eye again. Through the translucent rubber of the mask, House saw the corners of her mouth turn upward in a small smile.

"Ten," she whispered; then her eyelids fluttered shut, and she was silent.

House jerked his eyes away from the sight of her lying corpse-like under the lights. He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck as he limped out of the way, glancing agitatedly back over his shoulder at the interns now gathered around the operation table.

Foreman raised an eyebrow at him as House leaned back against the wall, but House either didn't notice or didn't bother to acknowledge it. Between the shoulders of the surgeon and a nurse, a scalpel caught the light and glinted, before the hand holding it was lowered and--

"Maybe you shouldn't—" House began. But before he could do so much as take a step forward, he was interrupted.

The room was immediately filled by the sound of every machine shrieking into life. Someone standing across the operating table cried out; another jerked backwards so violently that a tray of tools was sent clattering to the floor. Doctor Rodgers stumbled back, the scalpel still clutched in his hand; a droplet of blood clung to it's silver surface.

"What the hell is this, House?!" Rodgers stammered.

House pushed a nurse out of the way and strode over to the table. Lying upon it, her face still relaxed in the slight smile she had worn moments before, was Cuddy. Blood cascaded down her chest and over her shoulders. The incision on her sternum, made only seconds ago, was drowned in a rapidly expanding puddle of crimson.

"Close her up," House ordered, looking up at the stunned group. None moved.

"I said CLOSE HER UP," he bellowed, grasping Rodgers's elbow and shoving him back towards the table.

Rodgers only stared down at the blood now dripping onto the floor.

"Endocarditis doesn't do that," he said dumbly.

"Of course it doesn't fucking do that, CLOSE HER UP!" House roared. He shoved his hand down over the incision to stem the bleeding. Within seconds, his glove was effectively dyed red.

"She doesn't have Endocarditis?" Rodgers said slowly.

"NO, I lied, now do you want her to die?" House snarled furiously. "Sue me later, _stitch her closed_."

Rodgers wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Of course," he said, his voice tight. "Doctor Barker, get her on Aprotinin. Beals, Sauer, clean this up. As for the rest of you..."

House glared around at the surrounding nurses as he backed away from the table. The monitors continued to wail on for a few distressing minutes as the surgeon stitched the incision closed, and then one by one they began to taper off.

"She'll need a blood transfusion," Foreman muttered next to House.

"She'll need one and a half," House groaned, his eyes fixed on the droplets of blood dripping off of the operating table. Each one hit the linoleum floor with a small burst of scarlet.

"I can't believe we missed it."

"I know," House muttered.

"We're idiots."

House looked rather incensed by this, but reluctantly nodded.

"It was so obvious," Foreman moaned, rubbing his eyes wearily.

The droplets of blood were falling with less frequency now. The room suddenly fell quite silent; the last monitor had stopped beeping. Rodgers chanced a weary look over his shoulder.

House made his way back over to the operation table. The majority of Cuddy's shoulders, chest, and torso were now sticky with the remnants of blood, but her ashen face still smiled peacefully up at the ceiling. Doctor Rodgers was quite covered as well; looking drained, he peeled his gloves off and tossed them disgustedly onto a tray offered by a jumpy intern. Then, he turned to House.

"House… you have some explaining to do."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 **

Author's Note: Ahh, it's over! It's been such a great experience to write this fanfiction… thank you so much to those of you who've stayed tuned with each update and reviewed; you mean the world to me. Love love love love love. On a different note, I feel like I should warn you that the Chase/Cam relationship in this has become slightly AU. I had to include the "it's Tuesday" thing, as it is much too adorable to ignore—but the mutual aspect of that didn't really happen until after House fired his team, which hasn't happened in this fic. So, try not to think about it too hard, and I hope you all enjoy this final chapter!  
------------------------------ 

"It's Tuesday."

"It's _Saturday_," Chase said, ruffling his hair bemusedly.

"Whatever," Cameron grinned. She pushed past him and into the apartment. It was oddly dark inside, and she squinted to see the edges of the room. Stripes of light streamed out from behind half-drawn blinds, falling upon the navy blue walls. Cameron felt around for a light switch as Chase closed the door behind her, and a moment later she flicked one near her elbow.

The light revealed a conservatively furnished living room, with a single couch, coffee table, and television; book shelves were scattered along the walls, but Cameron ignored the prospect of finding out whether or not Chase was a fan of Stephen King or J.K. Rowling—instead, she raised her eyebrows at the coffee table.

"Uh, sorry," Chase murmured embarrassedly. He hurried past her and grabbed the three empty beer bottles scattered haphazardly upon it. His face was quite red as he straightened up.

"When in doubt, get drunk," Cameron said with a shrug. She slid her shoes off and kicked them to the side of the doorway. As Chase hurried down the hallway with the bottles into what was presumably the kitchen, she brushed a few crumbs off the beige couch and sat with her legs curled under her.

Chase returned, hands empty. He smiled apologetically.

"You _are _drunk, aren't you?" Cameron asked, noting his unshaven jaw and slightly bloodshot eyes.

"A little," he said with a sly smile, maneuvering around the couch and dropping down beside her.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she said, her tone suddenly serious.

"I know," Chase said simply. He leaned his elbows on his knees, resting his chin on his fists. "Wilson called me, to make sure I was coming back."

Cameron looked taken aback; "then why were you getting drunk in the dark?"

Chase laughed. "Working around House is enough to drive anyone off the edge. Forgive me for trying to wind down."

"Forgiven," Cameron said with a sigh. She leaned her head back to rest on the slightly dingy cushions of the couch. "He nearly ripped my scalp off yesterday."

Chase looked at her sharply. "Why?"

"I tried to convince him not to do the surgery."

Chase laughed again. "Ouch."

Cameron smiled briefly, but her eyes remained sullen as they scanned the room.

"He was being irrational," she said, her tone slightly defensive, "….more so than usual."

"Well it's obvious why, isn't it?" Chase said loudly, flinging himself backwards into the couch. He turned to raise an eyebrow at Cameron. "He's never cared about a patient before."

She smiled rather forcefully.

"And _you _care that _he _cares," Chase said, scooting closer. "That really bothers you, doesn't it?"

She made a face and averted her eyes. "He should care more often," she said bitterly.

"But that's not what this is about," he pressed, crossing his arms.

"I'm _over _him!" she said loudly, meeting his slightly smug expression defiantly.

He smiled mischievously. "Prove it. It's Tuesday."

He pushed her gently over onto the couch, already fumbling with the buttons of her blouse.

She smirked back. "Saturday."

------------------------------

"House?"

Gregory House jerked his head up towards the hoarse voice. The figure on the bed lay as motionless as ever, but his hand reached tentatively towards the cane that leaned against the wall behind him. He narrowed his eyes at the figure that may as well have been a corpse, lying immobile under the bright, sterile glow of the hospital lights. House's fingers lingered on the top of his cane for a moment, but he withdrew them with a sigh. His face set in a frown, he lowered himself back down into the flimsy plastic chair.

"House?"

This time there could be no mistaking it; she was awake.

"Hi," he said, his hand darting out again towards the cane. He pulled it towards him and rose with a grimace.

A lock of damp hair flopped limply down over her forehead as she tilted her head to meet his eyes. The face that had seemed pale before was almost ghostly against the pastel colors of the room; her eyes were mere slits as she looked up at him groggily.

"Did it work?" Cuddy rasped.

House averted his eyes, staring instead at the scuffed toes of his sneakers.

"House?" she whispered, her eyes widening as her expression loosened anxiously. "I don't feel right."

"I was wrong," he breathed. The words had barely left his lips before they disappeared among the soft, steady beeping of the machines that cluttered the room.

Cuddy may or may not have heard him; she was staring at her chest. Bandages stretched an inch deep across it, and though House had watched the nurses change them not twenty minutes ago, a small crimson stain was visible under the neck of Cuddy's hospital gown.

"Wrong," she repeated, her voice unnaturally high pitched. Her eyes widened again as she turned over her left arm to reveal a thick IV. House watched her eyes as they followed the tube up to the IV bag, a quarter full of red liquid.

"Blood?" she gasped, her voice breaking as she turned to look back at House. He met her eyes reluctantly, chewing his lip.

"Don't get over-excited," he said in a low voice. "Your stitches are barely working as is."

She was staring at him like a doe in headlights. House bit his lip harder, blinking with agitation as he twitched his eyes away from her petrified expression.

"We never touched your heart," he muttered softy. "You practically exploded as soon as the knife touched your skin."

Cuddy gaped. House's eyes refused to focus on one spot; he glanced at his shoes, his hands, her face, and back at his shoes. For a minute the room was near silent; the beeping of machinery was only interrupted by soft rustling as Cuddy sank lower into the pillows of the bed, staring dejectedly up at the ceiling. Her voice was devoid of emotion when she finally spoke;

"Am I going to die?"

House frowned at his sneakers. "No," he said firmly. "the blood in that IV is chock full of Von Willebrand factor. It should make up for your complete lack of it, and you'll be better in no time."

"Von Willebrand's," Cuddy said faintly. "I have a clotting problem? That's… it?"

"Yup," House said with a swift nod. "Type three VW. It was apparent as soon as they started the surgery."

He raised his eyes cautiously, head still bowed. Cuddy's eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but her previously pained expression was now one of blank incomprehension.

"So I'm getting better," she said slowly.

One corner of House's mouth curled up in a smile. "Yes."

"But it can't be Von Willebrand's. That wouldn't… it's harmless," Cuddy said with a frown.

House grimaced. "You remember why you were initially in here? The razor cut— I should have seen your bleeding as a symptom."

He paused. With another rustle of the hospital bedding Cuddy turned to look at him, her eyes still wide and shining with confusion. He flinched under her gaze, but didn't look away.

"It was _the _symptom," he said, shaking his head sadly. "The original bleeding caused an infection, which threw VW into hyper drive. Since you've barely gotten out of bed since you got here, blood idled in your joints and caused the pain. As it got worse, some minor clots in your arteries started breaking off; causing the stroke."

At this point he paused again, his own eyes widening to meet Cuddy's. His lower lip withdrew back into his mouth as he began to bite it again, resulting in a horribly dejected expression.

"The blood thinners," Cuddy said, her voice hushed. "After the stroke, you gave me blood thinners."

House nodded faintly. "So much for blood being thicker than water. The thinners caused some of the capillaries in your eyes to burst—they weren't Roth's Spots."

Cuddy nodded slowly.

"It's incredible that Rodgers managed to close you up," House admitted in a low voice. "We nearly killed you. I was an idiot not to recognize the symptoms earlier."

Cuddy's eyes shimmered as she nodded again. Her chin quivered.

"That all makes sense," she whispered. "But-- but you're not an idiot."

House bit his lip harder and reverted back to staring at his shoes.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be," she said loudly, her voice quavering slightly. "You saved my life, House."

"Any decent doctor would have considered a clotting problem straight off," House snapped.

"You're a better than decent doctor," she said with a tentative smile.

"Apparently _not_," House spat at his shoes.

"You fixed me," Cuddy said desperately. "It's okay!"

House pounded his cane down on the floor, face twisting angrily. "You could have DIED, how is that OKAY?"

Cuddy's face fell. Small patches of pink bloomed on her cheeks, bright against her pallid features. Silent tears glittered upon them as she shook her head.

"You're so determined to be miserable," said, a hint of wonder in her slightly unsteady voice. "You can't even be content with the fact that you did it."

House let out a bark of laughter. "This isn't about me being miserable."

"Then what the hell _is _it about?" she snapped.

"I knew this was going to happen," he muttered, kneading the head of his cane with a white-knuckled hand. "I told Wilson I wanted off the case because I _knew _this would happen."

"Knew _what _would happen, House?" Cuddy cried through gritted teeth.

"That I'd_ screw up _because I can't be the_ slightest _bit objective around you!" he snarled. Cuddy's mouth fell open.

"House—"

"_Shut up_!" he snapped. "You should be YELLING at me right now, not trying to play therapist! That's your god damn problem. Why do you let me get away with so much? Why the hell would you trust me? I'm an ASS, remember? You're an IDIOT for consenting to that surgery!"

Cuddy flinched at the sound of his yelling. He took a step forward, leaning down to glare at her. "What part of this do you not understand? You're better, so WHAT?"

"House," she said softly. Her pale eyes stared up into his brilliant blue ones; both sparkled in the shadows created by their own silhouettes. "You know perfectly well why I let you get away with so much."

House's furious expression faltered.

Cuddy raised her head, fixing House with a blazing look. House narrowed his eyes as her lips parted in a smile.

"Pardon?" he mumbled faintly.

"Shut up," she murmured. House's eyebrows rose as he felt the IV tube brush his shoulder. Seconds later, Cuddy's fingers were entwined in his hair.

"You're going to tear your stitches," he muttered, looking pointedly away. His eyes found the screen of Cuddy's heart monitor; 89BPM. "Don't get—"

Her breath tickled his ear. "Shut _up_," she whispered again.

House turned back to face her. She hesitated, her face inches from his own. She raised her eyebrows curiously.

He closed the distance between their lips in a heartbeat.

------------------------------ Epilogue------------------------------

"Do an electromyography and a tissue biopsy, and tell the wife that he's cheating on her."

"If Stephen does have Vasculitis, then that has nothing to do with his infidelity," Cameron said indignantly, her heels clicking on the floor as she followed House down the hall.

House rolled his eyes. "Doesn't make it untrue."

They stopped in front of the clinic. House turned his back on Cameron and flashed a cheesy grin at Chase.

"Hey ass-kisser, be a good boy and do an electromyography and a tissue biopsy. And tell the wife that he's cheating on her."

Chase raised his eyebrows, but nodded and strode purposely away.

"Foreman, go help," House ordered. Foreman turned and marched back down the hall after Chase.

House turned to Cameron. "Now as for you, Little Miss Morality, why don't you—"

He stopped. Across the room, an elevator door had opened. A woman was wheel chaired out of it, smiling up at the nurse who pushed her.

"Yes?" Cameron said slowly.

"Uh, MRI," mumbled House.

"For Vasculitis?" Cameron said bemusedly. House ignored her; he was staring over her shoulder at the nurse and patient, now making their way towards the front doors.

"Move," he said abruptly, pushing past her. He limped past the front desk, his cane making soft _ping_ing noises against the linoleum.

"I can take it from here," he said loudly, nudging the surprised nurse with his cane. She scowled, but retreated after glancing at his cane furtively.

House grasped the handle of the wheel chair as Cuddy turned her head around to raise an eyebrow at him.

"You're always so pleasant," she remarked.

House smirked. "I can't see your ass when you're sitting down."

Cuddy laughed. "Like I said, _so _pleasant."

"I'm gonna miss that hospital gown…" House said mournfully.

She groaned. "_Ha._"

House smirked wider as he slowed the chair to a stop in front of the door. "Hey, I'm actually _allowed _to say stuff like that now. You're mine."

Cuddy stood and turned to face him, grinning.

"On the other hand," said House, staring ostentatiously, "I'd forgotten how awesome those whore-shirts of yours are."

Cuddy glanced down distractedly, pulling her vest up with an embarrassed smile. Then she pushed the wheel chair gently out of the way, stepping closer until they were inches apart.

"House," she whispered, her eyes glinting mischievously, "I'm still your boss."

He made a face, reaching out and pushing the door open.

"Ladies first."

He followed Cuddy out into the stormy evening. Rain splashed upon the pavement in torrents, and the sky was utterly obscured by black clouds. A few people hurried under the overhang from the parking lot, holding their hands over their heads.

"Well," said Cuddy, eyeing the weather with slight apprehension, "I guess I'm off then. Free at last."

She took a step away, then turned around and smiled.

"Thank you."

House grimaced. "Look, I'm so sorry for-"

She walked back over and planted a kiss firmly on his lips.

"_Damn_," he muttered as she pulled away, his eyes widening.

She grinned. "Thank you. Really."

"Yeah, yeah," he said with a smirk.

She shot one final smoldering glance at him, then turned and walked out into the rain.

"Hey," he yelled after her. "Wait."

She turned around, her hair already wet and clinging to her head and shoulders. "What?" she called back, shielding her face against the downpour.

"Are you— are you free tonight?" he asked with a tentative grin.

She stepped back under the overhang, raising her eyebrows amusedly.

"You know…" she said with a smile, "I think I just might be."


End file.
